am very proud of my gymnasium.”
No need for deception. He had never seen a hall so comprehensively equipped. Each activity had its own section of apparatus: vaulting standards and boxes; ropes and bars for climbing; dumbbells and weights; punching bags; and, at the far end, a full-sized ring.
“Unbelievable!”
“So everyone says.”
“How many fighters are you training here?” Jago asked.
“At present, only one. You will meet him later.”
“Was all this built for him?”
She laughed. “Oh, no. There were others. They left us, though. It is not easy to stay long in the top class, as you will find.”
“Who were they?”
“Oh, they came from the Midlands. You wouldn’t have known them.”
“And did they win their fights?”
“Mostly. I should now like to see you exercise, Mr. Jago, if you are not too tired. There is a dressing room over there, and you will find drawers and pumps to fit you. I shall wait here.”
Mrs. Vibart’s request was made almost whimsically. But when Jago entered the dressing room, he realized that his appearance in the gym was prescribed some time before. The accommodation was spacious enough for a football team, but only two cubicles were labelled. The first, in excellent copperplate, read “Sylvanus Morgan” and the second “Henry Jago.” Inside were freshly laundered white boxing drawers with a black sash. He changed, and found them a sound fit. Under the bench were two pairs of gym shoes. The first he tried were right.
Bodily display was not usually embarrassing to Jago; stripping for the gym had become daily routine. This afternoon it was an ordeal. As he entered the vastness of the gym, conscious that everything he wore was owned and chosen by Mrs. Vibart, he felt as naked as Adam.
“Come over here, Henry Jago,” the Christian name spoken with emphasis, as though to impress on him that he could not preserve formalities now; although when he really considered it, “Mr. Jago” did seem inappropriate in white drawers. “Edmund is right. You have an excellent physique. Don’t stand over there. I want to examine you.”
Jago advanced to be examined.
For perhaps fifteen seconds Mrs. Vibart’s eyes travelled over his body.
“A good pectoral development and strong biceps. That suggests work with dumbbells or barbells. Your neck is quite strong-looking too, isn’t it? The legs could improve with some work, I think. How are your abdominal muscles? May I feel?”
She pushed her hand firmly into his diaphragm.
“That, Henry Jago, seems your weakest point. Flex it, please.” With the side of her hand she prodded the area below Jago’s ribs. “Yes, we can strengthen you there. You wouldn’t last long in a fist fight in your present condition. Have you ever used a rowing machine?”
“I did some rowing. . years ago,” said Jago. The words “at school” had almost slipped out.
“Several years, I should think,” said Mrs. Vibart, smiling. “You are an admirer of Blondin, my maid tells me. His abdominal muscles are uncommonly powerful, or he would never retain his balance. I don’t advise you to attempt to cross Niagara Falls for the present.”
Jago smiled, remembering his exhibition in the Fox.
“Let me see your back.”
Jago turned.
“Flex the arms, please, and hold that position.”
“You’ve found another one then, Isabel. And quite a handsome show of flesh, eh?” A man’s voice, suddenly close to where Mrs. Vibart was standing.
“Robert? You’ve come back early. Turn round, Mr. Jago, and meet Mr. D’Estin. Robert is a family friend, and I hope that he will agree to train you.”
Jago obeyed.
He was eye to eye with one of the most powerful men he had encountered. If Mrs. Vibart set her physical standards by Robert D’Estin, Jago could see why his own physique had not been passed as perfect. Yet there was nothing gorilla-like about him; he was uniformly well-proportioned, and good-looking. The face intelligent and clear- skinned, the moustache neatly barbered. He held a silver-topped cane.
“Glad to meet you, Jago.”
A handshake.
The sensation was so unexpected that Jago could not disguise his shock. The hand that gripped his had three fingers missing.
“Accident with a duck gun,” D’Estin explained. “Four-bore. A good gun, too, from Bond Street. The barrel blew up. Improperly cleaned, you see, so I’ve got this to remind me. The bastard that neglected his job has his own souvenir of the occasion. I saw to that.”
Jago was sometimes grateful for a limited imagination. Violence allied to such power was appalling to contemplate.
“Well, Mr. Jago,” said Mrs. Vibart, formal again in D’Estin’s presence, “I would like to ask you to use my gymnasium. I am sure that Robert would like to see you exercise.”
It was a relief to turn to activity, and less of an ordeal now that it was not for an audience of one. He picked up a skipping rope and loosened his muscles with two minutes’ work. Then the five-pound dumbbells, curling them slowly up from arm’s length twenty times; and then twenty pushes upwards from the shoulders. After this he jumped for the rings suspended from a beam, and swung his body upside-down, pulled his shoulders to ring level and then righted himself slowly. These were not exhibition pieces, but he preferred to perform efficiently and conscientiously.
“Now the sawdust bag,” called D’Estin. “Let’s see your fists working.”
Jago moved over to where a large sack was suspended, and began working at it, finding a rhythm in his punching, and weaving and feinting as he had learned in the Anchor gym.
“Good. You move well,” said D’Estin finally. “Let’s see your hands.”
Jago walked over and opened his palms.
“The knuckles, man.”
He turned them over. They were red from the roughness of the hessian.
“Tender, are they?” D’Estin asked, without much sympathy in the expression. “They want pickling. When do we start, Isabel? Can we get these delicate dukes in vinegar tonight? The sooner, the better.”
“What do you think, Mr. Jago?” she asked, smiling again. “Are you still game for a fist-fighting career?”
“If you’ll take me on.” He was beginning to enjoy the prospect.
“Very good. I don’t have to tell you that shedding the gloves has its dangers for a fighter, outside the ring as well as in. A fist fighter blatantly breaks the law; if you are arrested at a prize fight, you can offer no defence. The penalties will be heavy. There are compensations, however. We shall keep you in food and lodging, and you will be paid five shillings a day while you are in training. My commission on your fights is fifty per cent of your earnings. Is that acceptable?”
“Entirely.” It was rather better than he was getting at Scotland Yard.
“Excellent. I think we can spare him the vinegar treatment until tomorrow, Robert, but he will need physicking, of course.”
“Physicking?” queried Jago.
“The first step in getting a man fit, my friend,” D’Estin explained. “A strong emetic, and then purging with Glauber’s salts. A week of dosing should get your stomach clear.”
CHAPTER 7
Two communications of great significance were delivered to Sergeant Cribb on the following Friday. The first
